Sleep
by StrawberryBubble
Summary: Frerard/MCR "'So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep.' That was the song Gerard himself had written, and he often hummed it before doing just what the words suggested. Yet lately, sleeping has been the one thing he simply cannot do. How ironic." Rated for language and some violence. *Complete*
1. Part 1: Shut Your Eyes

**A/N: Well…I usually try not to start stories before I finish my others, because I never end up posting more than a chapter or two, but I already have this entire thing planned out, so I thought, why not? It's going to be 3 parts, and the only one I don't have completed is part 3. So it WILL be finished, I promise not to ditch this story; it's just a matter of finding time to write it out, which could take a little while, as I have **_**around **_**a thousand and six exams coming up.**

**Anyway, I hope you like it! The year, for this particular story, is 2007, during the Black Parade era while they were on their World Tour. Also, just thought I'd warn you: I know little to nothing about them in this stage (other than what I've seen from videos and such) so this is based on my imagination of how it was and what the guy's personalities were and such. :P Enjoy, and review if you could! I appreciate them :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone or anything but my OC's and the storyline, and also, obviously, none of this ever happened (except their stay at the Paramour Mansion and what happened to them there; not the interview in this, though, I made that up.) **

* * *

**~Sleep~**

**Part 1: Shut Your Eyes**

No one knows Gerard Way is here. No matter how much he hopes to receive help, it doesn't come. And despite how terribly he wants to move, to get away from the flames biting at his ankles, the suffocating smoke that surrounds him, he can't. He's completely immobile, unable to even cry out as he tries to.

It's the same every time, though—trapped in a small, empty room, the only source of light being the fire coming at him from all angles, drawing closer each second, hot enough to burn with the slightest touch.

He's frightened, of course; he never isn't. There's constantly the possibility that this _isn't _the nightmare which continuously plagues him, that instead of waking once he succumbs he will be forever lost in the darkness.

He doesn't want to die. He's said before that he _does_, sometimes haunted by a depression that never quite left him completely. He's even contemplated ending it all himself.

But not now; here, in this situation, with all recollection that this is merely a dream non-existent, he'd quite honestly do anything to save himself. There's something in him; a certain desperation to live that he rarely, if ever, feels during those times.

He believes it's a subconscious thought, suppressed when he's unhappy enough to question the worth of his life, and it's a thought that confuses him. The desire to no longer have to deal with all the stress, whenever he experiences it, is strong. He hardly ever pauses to wonder if he doesn't actually want to. But then, the fact that he _doesn't_ very well could be the reason he's never gone through with it; he doesn't _really _want to, regardless of what he thinks at the times he has a chance to. He loves what he does, no matter how much anxiety it causes him periodically.

He closes his eyes, willing himself to wake up. He doesn't want to endure the scene anymore; the heat is unbearable. And finally, he feels reality—_this _reality, at least—start to slip away, fading further into nothingness until—

Gerard awakes with a start, entirely restrained by his blankets and covered in sweat, gasping. He struggles to get free, unwillingly allowing a small, panicked cry to break the utter silence around him.

There's some movement in the bunk across from him, a pause, and then, "Gee?"

_Stupid fucking tour bus. _The beds are far too close together in the crowded thing; pretty much any noise they made was heard by the others—_every _noise.

Gerard stops moving, but the other member of My Chemical Romance is already up, sitting as much as he can manage and leaning forward, his face just barely illuminated by moonlight, faintly shining in from one of the windows.

"You okay?" Frank Iero frowns, blinking away sleep and staring at his love in concern.

The singer doesn't respond at once, and even in the dim light, Frank can see fear etched into his features. He swings his legs over the side of his own bed, jumping to the floor and then wincing as it isn't exactly a quiet landing.

The other three don't stir, to his relief, and he sighs, stepping onto the stool to reach Gerard's bunk, beginning to try and help untangle him from the sheets.

"Jesus, Frank, I'm not five!" Gerard whispers awkwardly, but the guitarist ignores him.

Gerard sits up once he's free and looks away, almost as if he's embarrassed, and Frank smirks, resting his arms on the edge of the bed, trying to lift himself up a bit more. "What happened?" he asks, and when the twenty-nine-year-old remains silent, he repeats himself, refusing to back off.

"I had a nightmare, okay?" Gerard snaps. "Happy now? Damn!"

Frank's smile disappears. "Again?" he blurts out before thinking.

"What d'you mean, _'again'?_" the singer abruptly demands, his tone harsh, only because he's covering up his sudden alarm. He previously had been dealing with nightmares, while they had been writing their current album, but it had been _months _since then. They'd only just started reoccurring; for around two weeks, as of the moment.

But not once in that time has he let slip a word about it—so how does Frank know of them?

Frank glances down briefly. "Well…" he hesitates. "You were crying in your sleep the other night."

Gerard uncomfortably sinks back, refusing to make eye-contact. "…Was I?"

"Yeah. I wanted to wake you, but you didn't do it long." He sighs. "You've been really tired lately, I…didn't want to bother you."

Gerard raises his gaze at last. "Thanks. And, uh…yeah, again." He lifts his hand to rub his eyes, deciding he might as well tell him. "I can't fucking sleep anymore." There's a pause as he stifles a yawn, the brief chorus of one of their newer songs running through his head._ 'So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep.'_ That was the song Gerard himself had written, and he often hummed it before doing just what the words suggested. Yet lately, sleeping has been the one thing he simply cannot do. How ironic. "And even if I do," he adds, "it's only for a little while."

Frank covers his mouth to hide a yawn of his own, and he looks absolutely exhausted when he puts his arm back on the bed, shifting his weight slightly. "I'm sorry. Did you tell Mikey?"

"Why would I?" Gerard asks, shrugging. "He's my brother, not my therapist. Besides," he continues, "I'm fine. Just insomnia, or stress, or…something."

He finally allows himself to yawn, and when he blinks again, he notices that Frank has taken on a very sleepy, amused expression, and he tilts his head a bit. "What?"

"You're too damn cute," Frank replies softly, and Gerard rolls his eyes, grinning fractionally. "And _you _are too damn short."

It's very obvious, too—the singer has to look down at him despite him standing on the step.

Frank chuckles, and then gasps as Gerard reaches out to him before he can say another word, grabbing his arms and, with effort and Frank helping, pulls him into the bunk with him.

Blushing, surprised, Frank smiles, turning towards Gerard to kiss him.

The reason behind Gerard's actions is not for this, although it's very nice and welcomed, of course.

The truth is quite simple, actually; Frank makes him feel safer. And it's more so than anyone else has in a long time, quite possibly ever. The singer loves him with all his heart and more, and whenever he is around him, very clearly feeling the same towards him, Gerard's loneliness or depression is replaced with happiness and excitement.

And if he ever needs to feel happy, it's after one of those terrible dreams.

Frank moves back, an adorable smile on his face, and then rolls back over, pressing himself against his love.

Gerard puts an arm around Frank's waist and rests his head directly behind the guitarist's, his dark hair tickling his nose slightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too…" Frank murmurs, already sounding half-asleep, and it takes less than a minute before his breathing evens out, leaving the deathlike silence to return.

And although contented, Gerard cannot seem to do the same. He's worn out, of course—he's barely slept enough to equal half a night in the past week—but also unnerved. He doesn't want to go through the distressing dream again. Or, even _more _disconcerting, he could have the one he fears the most, that had left him sleepless for nearly two days the last time he had it, most likely the cause of the crying Frank had heard.

The band the five of them had created almost six years ago was, and still _is, _his family. He loves them; he'd do anything to assure they were unharmed.

Though in the particular nightmare he dreads having again, 'anything' is precisely what he cannot do. They die. They always die, every time, right in front of him, while he is forced to watch, frozen, helpless, terrified. And it isn't like any other dream he's had before. This one is far too real; far too frightening.

And he's willing to risk being tired to prevent himself from seeing it again.

The band has another concert tonight; they've had one every night since they started the world tour they are currently on. He knows he should get as much rest as he can, as his addiction to coffee can only provide him with so much energy. And even with a full night of sleep, they are all drained by the end of it; now he won't even have the chance to temporarily _not _feel that way, which he very much needs to be at his best and finish the show.

He closes his eyes, tries to sleep, but he just can't. It's as hopeless as his struggles to cure the nightmares himself are; nothing works for either.

He tightens his grip around Frank and sighs, wondering what the time is and if he has long to wait before the sun comes up.

Although…he_ is _satisfied with where he is now, wanting the comfort of it to last forever.

But it won't. And this is a disagreeable fact he's painfully, and unfortunately, aware of.

* * *

When Frank opens his eyes, he immediately realizes he's freezing, the warmth Gerard had been giving off gone. He's confused for several long moments as to how he is suddenly with his back towards the wall of the bus instead of the singer, which, for the record, was _a lot _more comfortable than his current position.

"Gee?" he wonders aloud, scooting over to the curtain and pulling it back to see the other bunks are empty. Frowning, he gets down and rubs the back of his neck as he walks the small distance to the "kitchen", noticing it's totally silent. The door is cracked open, and Frank sighs, looking for a glass to get something to drink, smiling as Gerard comes onto the bus, holding a cup that most likely contains coffee. "Hi, baby."

Gerard turns to look at him, and Frank almost winces as how dark the skin under his eyes is. He impossibly looks more exhausted than he had the day before and yet is acting like he's consumed several energy drinks. "Hey, Frankie," he murmurs quickly, managing a grin.

"Where are we?"

"R-rest stop," Gerard replies, hardly noticing that he stammers. "They've got a fucking _Starbucks!_"

Frank cocks an eyebrow. "Are you all right?" he asks, watching him move again as if he can't stay still.

"Yeah, no—_yes, _I'm fine," Gerard shakes his head, lifting the cup to his lips.

Frank begins to ask him exactly how many of those he's had so far, but is interrupted as Ray steps back onto the bus, smirking at him. "So—is his bed more or less comfortable than yours?"

Frank blushes despite he knows the other guitarist is only teasing him, and Ray chuckles. "You want anything while we're here?"

After several seconds of silence, Frank goes to grab a shirt, content with using his night clothing as shorts. "Actually, yeah; I'd love to use a _real _bathroom."

Ray steps aside, gesturing theatrically at the door, and with an amused glance, Frank heads out.

The second guitarist pushes back his hair and smiles, whipping around as something loudly clatters to the floor, seeing Gerard by the counter. "Fuck!"

"What're you _doing?_" Ray questions, realizing what dropped was the glass Frank had taken out. It isn't broken, but Gerard only continues to stare down at it like he has no idea how it got there.

"Gerard? Hello!" Ray tries, gently touching his shoulder, only prompting a soft, "Sorry," before he picks it up and sets it back on the surface.

"Are you sick or something?"

"No." Gerard grumbles, taking another drink. "'m fine."

"You look like you are. Just go back and rest, we won't be in San Diego for like—"

Gerard glares at him, cutting him off from that alone. He rolls his eyes, running a hand through his short, bleached hair and turning around, walking out the door again, leaving a very confused Ray merely watching him do so.

The singer takes a long, deep breath, hoping to clear his mind as he gets outside, but only sighs loudly as his younger brother, Mikey, comes up to him, holding what looks like a granola bar. "You want it?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

Mikey frowns. "Since when?"

"Leave me alone!" Gerard snaps, beginning off in the other direction immediately, muttering to himself. "Everyone, just fucking leave me—"

He cuts off and jerks back as he suddenly realizes Frank is stopped in front of him, looking at him with concern.

"I love you," Frank says, tilting his head a bit and frowning, attempting to calm him with the words.

"Yeah, I love you, too." Gerard murmurs, scratching his head and suddenly looking about to fall asleep right where he is standing.

"Gee?"

"I…I'm…just…need another coffee," Gerard finally finishes, turning back around and heading towards the gas station again.

* * *

"Mr. Way?"

Gerard blinks, looking up at the interview and blushing a bit. "Could you, ah, repeat that? Sorry."

The woman smiles sweetly. "Sure. What was the inspiration you got from your stay at the Paramour Mansion while recording?"

Gerard sighs, glancing at the other four beside him on the couch. "Ah, definitely a lot of the darkness of it, um…I mean, at least half of it. It was pretty fuckin' creepy there, and while we really didn't need encouragement in making it dark, we got it anyway."

He's very aware it's a shitty response, and apparently Ray notices he isn't going to continue because he speaks up himself. "Yeah, it—it was definitely weird; we all had stuff happen to us that sort of connected to or—or inspired some the lyrics."

"What sort of things?" the interviewer asks, and Gerard sips at the coffee in his cup, what must be close to the fiftieth he's had today, desperately trying to wake himself up more. _It's not working—why the_ fuck_ isn't it working?_

Frank gives a little laugh that slightly calms him down. "There was a hell of a lot of times a door would just close right in front of me; Gerard too."

"Mmhm," Gerard nods, glancing at his brother, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by them bringing up the subject; he knows none of the others would start talking about how depressed he became there.

"Damn bathtub in my room filled up with water itself a couple times," Bob says, shaking his head and smiling a bit. "Just…weird stuff. _Really _weird stuff."

The interviewer nods and continues on with the questions. Gerard doesn't speak again, which makes it very obvious something isn't right with him. He's always the most talkative one in the group during such things, and now he's just listening to the others; not very closely, either. Their words only comprehend halfway.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ he wonders, putting the cup between his legs to reach up and rub his eyes without putting the microphone down, despite not using it; it's a habit. He's had less than three or so hours of sleep before and still managed to act like nothing's wrong. So why is it that now he feels worse than he did then? He had been noticing his strength over the past few days diminishing slowly, but it hadn't really crossed his mind it wouldn't stop.

Though now it's undoubtedly there; an exhaustion previously pushed back and now nearly overwhelming him as he's in front of a camera, dazedly trying to focus.

_And we still have the concert in three hours. _

Despite the panicking thought, Gerard forces a smile as the interviewer says thank you to them all, wishing them good luck on their performance.

"There's going to be thousands of fans there tonight; it'll be great."

_Yeah, just great, _Gerard thinks, standing and then wincing as his vision spins a bit, taking a cautious step back.

Frank grabs his arm, noticing how pale he is. "Gee," he begins, but Gerard recovers, pulling away and heading off without another word.

The guitarist sighs, looking at the others as they come over to him.

"He looks fucking awful," Bob points out, and Mikey gives him a look.

"He's fine," a voice behind them, their manager, says. "Not a problem."

The four turn to him, frowning, and Ray murmurs, "Y'know, maybe we should reschedule the concert…"

"That'll throw our whole tour of track." Brian smiles like he's heard a joke. "He'll be fine."

"And if he passes out on stage?" Frank suddenly demands, angry that the guy is brushing off Gerard's health like it doesn't matter. "Wouldn't it be better to—"

"He _won't,_ though," the manager interrupts confidently, tapping his fingers on his clipboard as if he's awaiting the four to shut up so he can get on with what he needs to do before tonight. "He can sleep now and after. An hour and a half isn't that long; he'll do great."

Before anyone can argue, the man is off, and Frank lets out an angry huff. "Can I punch him?"

"You're not tall enough to reach him," Bob says, smirking, but Frank isn't kidding. Bob frowns. "Yeah, go ahead. Get the whole tour cancelled on us. Gerard will just _adore _you after that."

Frank flinches. He would do anything for his love, and yet the one thing he's trying to do now, to help him—everyone is acting like it would only make things _worse._ "Fuck off," he finally tells the drummer. "I'm the only one fucking _worried _about him, and you guys won't even let me help him?"

"Frank—" Ray begins, but Frank whips around, muttering curses and storming off after Gerard, changing directions after a few moments.

He just wants to be alone. And, being in a band and all, that means he should take the times when he _can _be alone and enjoy them.

* * *

Frank's eyes are on his love the whole length of the concert. He does play as well, of course, and he does get into certain parts enough to forget the others, but every moment he isn't, he's watching Gerard.

Watching how weary he's clearly getting as the night goes on; how every time he turns his back to the audience he has his eyes closed, almost looking in pain, willing himself on.

His voice never changes, however. He stays perfectly pitched on every song they do, which he's obviously grateful for, even when he has to stand still for a minute or two once and a while, too tired for his constant erratic on-stage movements.

The crowd doesn't seem to notice, or at least doesn't care if they do sense something. And finally, when they've finished the last song, the audience cheers even louder, clapping and shouting as the band goes off-stage, gathering in the room they waited in before the show, where Brian is, telling them all how amazing it went.

Ray, Bob, and Mikey listen to him, but Frank doesn't care much, glancing back at Gerard and frowning. Instead of even attempting to join the group, he's shakily leaning against the wall, his head turned a bit like he's listening to the still-excited crowd.

"Gerard!" Brian exclaims, and the singer jumps, startled, facing their manager as he moves past the others to be in front of him. "You were _perfect!_ How ya feeling, hmm? Good?"

"No," Gerard murmurs hoarsely, but the man doesn't acknowledge this. "I'm so glad you pulled through," he continues, "really; Ray wanted to reschedule, but it's a _huge _help that you managed."

"You mean you would've?" Ray asks, stepping forward and frowning.

"No. But hey, whatever, right? It's over."

"Can we go now?" Mikey questions, his eyes on his brother.

Brian nods, gesturing for them to start off down the hall.

None of them notice Gerard doesn't follow. He's very lightheaded all of a sudden, the edges of his vision blackening. _Don't, please…_

He unsteadily takes a step forward, mumbles a very soft, "…_Frankie…_" and then knows nothing more, collapsing to the tile with a loud crash.


	2. Part 2: Kiss Me Goodbye

**A/N: When I started writing this story (and even when I _finished _it), I didn't know what their manager Brian looked like, _let alone_ the fact he was the one who talked Gerard out of suicide. So please ignore how much of an uncaring douchebag I made him in this story, he obviously was _nothing_ like this to them in real life. I know this is purely fanfiction, and I also know that people write OOC all the time, but I completely gained respect for the guy in the span of a four minute video, and I actually feel _really _bad about writing him like this now, so I just really had to make sure everyone knew that. Anyway, hope you like Part 2 :)**

****Edited; errors with the number of people towards the end is fixed****

* * *

**~Sleep~**

**Part 2: Kiss Me Goodbye**

Frank is pissed off. _Beyond _pissed off, really. And it isn't because he's not worried about Gerard, which he very much _is._

It's because of what their manager had said to Gerard mere seconds after he'd come to, nearly forty minutes after the incident in the waiting room, disoriented and incapable of focusing on any of them.

"_At least you didn't do that on stage."_

_At least I didn't fucking punch you out, you ass! _Frank thinks, irate. He can't _believe _the man could have been so fucking heartless! He hadn't asked if he was _okay, _or even a, "How're you doing after you just face-planted into tile?"

Not that he apparently really cares about them. He'd been very blatant about that. The singer had split his lip from the fall and the man hadn't even offered to help get something to stop the bleeding; Mikey had done both things. Brian had even left to get a _drink_ during the almost hour they'd all been anxiously awaiting Gerard's recovery, only to have him faint a second time once they'd managed to get him to stand and walk outside.

And again, the man hadn't even blinked.

_Idiot._

"Frankie,"

Frank looks at his love, seeing a weak smile on his face. They are back in the tour bus, and the singer is in Mikey's bunk, as they hadn't thought it safe to put him in his own in case he had to get up. Gerard's hand is pointing at something beside Frank, who's been sitting on the stool all the time he can manage, and he notices the cup Ray had brought him. "Water?" he asks, and Gerard nods in conformation.

Frank grabs it and hands it to him, watching him as he gratefully consumes the remainder of it, his throat raw from singing and screaming.

"Are you feeling better?"

Gerard doesn't answer for a moment, and then lowers the glass. "I guess so."

Frank regards him doubtfully, and the singer looks away with a sigh. "What time is it?"

"Two, I think."

"It's only been _one _night, right?"

Chuckling slightly, Frank nods and then frowns as Gerard pushes the sheets back and sits up, beginning to try and get out of bed.

Frank shakes his head slightly, putting his hands on his love's shoulders to stop him. "What're you doing? You don't have to do the concert tonight."

Pretending he isn't as dizzy as he actually is, Gerard straightens up anyway. "I can do it. Besides, you're out of your fuckin' _mind_ if you think Brian's gonna—"

"We already talked to him."

"And he said yeah?" Gerard's obviously astonished the manager would do such a thing.

Frank smiles a bit. "Not right away. But it was one concert or them all, and he agreed to that."

"No!" Gerard scowls, shoving his hands away. "Why would you even _think _about canceling everything? I'm fine!"

"You're exhausted!"

Gerard pauses. He knows he should be relieved Frank is worrying for him; it means he cares. And he truly _is _still tired enough to sleep for another day—or a year…

"But I can't." he finishes aloud, standing anyway. "The others are counting on me. The _fans _are counting on me! I can't just…not go…"

Frank grabs him as he pales. "You're whiter than your fucking hair, Gerard. Missing one day to get better isn't a problem!"

"No," Gerard repeats stubbornly, but his eyes are closed, and his voice is very soft. Frank puts an arm around his waist and turns him back towards the bed, overpowering his brief effort to stay on his feet and forcing him to lie back down anyway, ignoring the curses he receives from doing so.

"Fucking _stay there,_" Frank orders, and Gerard clenches his teeth in order not to laugh, looking up at him and then somewhat tilting his chin up, his eyes speaking for him.

Frank smiles slightly and leans down to kiss him, noticing that after a while he stops returning it, and he pulls back to see his love's eyes are closed again, his lips remaining a bit parted, somehow managing to have fallen asleep in the span of fifteen seconds.

Unable to find this anything less than absolutely adorable, Frank chuckles softly and grabs the glass to fill it in case the singer awakes thirsty again.

He glances over at the door as Mikey walks through it, noticing Frank and immediately walking over to him. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah. But I think he's gonna sleep through tonight."

"So it's off." Mikey sighs, and Frank nods. "Brian isn't going to—"

"I don't give a _shit_," the guitarist snaps, and Mikey's eyes widen a little.

"Don't look at me like that. You know he's an ass."

"…Well, yeah. But we gotta listen to 'em."

"Yeah? So you'd let him walk all over Gerard? I won't." Frank turns before Mikey can answer, going to set the now filled cup within arm's reach of the singer, watching him for a moment. He looks peaceful enough for the moment for his lingering worry to ease. He really hopes the twenty-nine-year-old _doesn't _wake up before tonight, or else he might want to continue and try to convince them to go, despite the concert already under the label of 'canceled.'

"He just needs to rest, anyway," Frank adds after a moment.

"He hasn't been sleeping?"

"Not well, no."

"I didn't know," the bassist murmurs, almost disappointed. He doesn't know anything that has happened between him and his older brother that would make him not think he could talk about such things. Other than maybe his own shame…Gerard had always had a problem with that.

"Neither did anyone else. I've only known since…only known for _sure _since last night."

Mikey sighs. "Brian's out getting him something to help him sleep tonight so tomorrow he can perform." He looks away as Frank gapes at him. "We've already missed today…"

"Why the fuck can't we get him _real _help?" Frank demands, irritated.

"Like what?"

"I don't know—can't we take 'em to a doctor or something?"

Mikey looks about to reply but never gets a chance to. The door opens and the other members of the band walk onto the bus, lead by Brian, who tosses a small cardboard box at Frank. The guitarist instinctively grabs it before it can hit him, looking at it for a moment. Then he glances up, scowling. "Really?"

Brian shrugs. "They're just to help him get to sleep if he needs it."

"What if something else is wrong?"

"There's no disease that causes nightmares," Brian says, and Frank lets out a groan of frustration. "Even if there was, you _still _wouldn't give a shit about him!"

Brian takes on a very startled expression. "Frank, of course I—"

"No! You didn't even care when he fell before! Maybe he wouldn't have at all if you'd just let him take one night off!"

"Stop yelling…" Gerard's weak voice murmurs, and Frank turns to look at him. "You're okay with everyone being more concerned about missing one show in three months than your health?"

"My _health _is just great, other than the fact I can't sleep more than five minutes." Gerard says, frowning, struggling to sit up. He eyes the box in his love's hand. "Can you give me that?"

Frank hesitates. "You don't want to try anything else? Like getting help, or at least—"

"I get you're trying to help, Frankie," the singer says, hiding his irritation. "But you're not. _Please _just give me the damn things!"

Frank doesn't move for a moment, unable to think of a response and then all of a sudden blurting out, "It's great to see drugs are still your answer to everything."

Gerard flinches and then gawks at him, shocked at first and then furious. "Fuck off!" he snaps.

"Gerard, I'm—"

"Get lost! And leave me the fuck alone!"

Surprised by both his own words and Gerard's, Frank throws the box onto his bunk and then turns, pushing past Bob and slamming the door behind him.

Gerard swallows hard, staring at the box for a moment and then the others, who all almost instantly avert their gazes, and he lies back down, covering himself with the blanket and turning his back to them to hide the sudden tears he cannot hold back.

Ray glances at the door, wondering for a few moments if he should go after the younger guitar player, but sighs and decides not to—he needs to blow off whatever anger he apparently has towards them all.

And, judging by what had just happened, it's _a lot._

* * *

_What is wrong with me?_

Frank still doesn't have an answer to that. He's walked down countless streets over the past two hours or so, consequently getting himself a bit lost, and still can't find a single reason he acted how he had.

Sure, he was worried for Gerard; the singer had been perfectly fine with that. But he'd had no right to bring up what he had before storming off, no matter how angry he was. It was one of the best things, if not _the _best thing the singer had ever accomplished, getting off the drugs and alcohol he had previously been addicted to. And with one single sentence, he'd brought those past memories back. If his love had nightmares about _that,_ it would entirely be his fault.

_Dumbass, _he tells himself silently. And it's absolutely true. In fact, nothing could have been _more _correct at this moment.

He finally raises his gaze, coming out of his depressed mood as he realized how very lost he really is. He looks around, his frown deepening, and unfortunately sees nothing he knows; not even a store he's seen in other states.

'_Get lost'. This is _not _what he meant by that._

Or maybe it had been; there isn't a way to tell.

"You really fucked up," he mutters to himself. "He probably _did _mean it."

He sighs heavily. Now_ he _wishes he could go back, take one of the pills, and then sleep instead of facing Gerard again. _Anything _sounded better than doing that.

There's a small cry from the small corridor between two buildings he's passing, and immediately Frank stops, frowning and staring at two figures hovering over another lying motionless in front of them.

"What—" he unwittingly begins, and their attention is on him faster than he can see their eyes move. Neither of them are older than teenage years, and yet they're taller than Frank, clearly angry and scowling at him.

His wide, panicked eyes dart to the person on the ground and then to the two, and Frank jerks back and darts in the opposite direction, hearing a shout and several vile curses.

He opens his mouth to call out, but something whacks the back of his head before he can, causing him to trip and fall, dazed, blinking at the blurred object that lands beside him.

_A cell phone. _They fucking threw a _cell phone _at him.

Frank grabs for it, not quite sure what he means to do with it, and then feels a sharp blow to his side, forgetting it in pain. "Ah!"

"Shut up," one of them snaps breathlessly as the other catches up. He grabs him, dragging him up by his shirt, his other hand clamping around his throat. "_What'd you see?_" he shouts.

Frank starts to panic as he comprehends how much stronger they are than him. "N-nothing!" he gasps, struggling to get away as a car pulls up, the window rolling down to reveal another teen, looking just old enough to drive. "Let's go, come on!"

"What do we do with him?" the boy with his hands in his pockets asks.

"I can kill him," the one choking Frank says calmly, and the guitarist winces. "Don't!" he manages, wheezing. "I don't—I didn't…didn't see anything! Lemme' go…"

The one in the vehicle doesn't hesitate. "Y-you know what—who cares? Just let him go."

"No! What if he rats us out?"

"Fine! Then fucking bring him! But hurry up 'fore the cops come or somethin'!"

Frank tries to shout for help but only manages a whimper as the boy holding him opens the door and forces him inside, still with his hand around his neck. "Please…" he whispers, desperate for more than the shallow gasps he's getting now, and finally he's released, and he begins coughing as the engine roars to life and the car starts forward.

Finally able to think clearly again, Frank swallows painfully and stares at the boys, who are glaring menacingly back at him. "Look, I don't know—"

"Shut it, moron!" the boy closest to him growls, and Frank bits his lip, glancing at the door beside him, vaguely wondering if he can jump out like in one of the movies they'd spent far too much time watching out of bordom in the bus, not quite realizing how ridiculous it is with how fast the car was going.

But he doesn't get the chance, anyway, which may or may not be such a terrible thing, though this never registers. The one closest clearly sees the desperation in his expression, and he reaches out, grabbing Frank's shoulders with surprising strength and shoving him back. The guitarist grunts as his head hits the window, and then he gives a small sigh, noiselessly slumping forward.

The boy leans him back and against the door, looking at the other and then facing forward again without saying a word.

* * *

_I've been kidnapped by teenagers. _

It's the only thought on Frank's mind as he stares at the group on the opposite side of the room. It's absolutely _humiliating—_and it gives one of their newer songs an _entirely _different meaning.

The group has completely ignored him after they handcuffed his wrists around a burning hot pipe in the very corner, like they've forgotten about him. And because he'd screamed as they dragged him out of the car, they'd decided to duct tape his mouth shut, preventing him from doing much of anything except whimper in pain whenever he accidently allows his skin to brush against the metal.

The only other sounds, save the rattling of his restraints as he uselessly tries to adjust his position, aching terribly from holding his arms out to prevent being burned, are the boy's soft voices, discussing inaudibly. He's almost sure that, whatever they robbed from the person in the corridor, it isn't something they could serve more than year in prison for. And if charged with anything at all, it'd more likely be for kidnapping than it would be for stealing a wallet or whatever the hell it had been.

He actually tears up as his already raw and reddened wrist is scalded yet again, squeezing his eyes shut and shrieking in an attempt to relieve the pain. It doesn't help, and he moans, blinking at last and then flinching as he realizes the three have walked over to him, looking down at him in an emotion that's between amused and uncaring.

"So. What do you think we should do with you?" the one who had been driving asks, and Frank drops his head back against the wall, trying to control his breathing.

The boy smirks. "Hey! Aren't you the guitarist from My Chemical Romance? You were supposed to play tonight?"

Frank nods vigorously, feeling something that resembles possible hope that maybe this will make them release him sooner, shifting again.

"You guys fucking suck, you know that?" he snickers, and other two begin laughing, mostly because Frank is unable to stop his cheeks from turning red in embarrassment.

"Especially that singer…what's his name? Gerald something?"

Frank scowls, glaring up at him, and suddenly the boy laughs. "Oh, _yeah_." he says, taking a long drag from his cigarette and then blowing the smoke in his direction. "I've heard about that. Where was your little boyfriend earlier, hmm?"

Frank shudders, struggling not to choke.

"This never would've happened if you'd just stayed home and f—"

The guitarist doesn't allow him to finish, quite aware of what the next words would have been, and he kicks out with his leg and all the strength he has, knocking the teen's legs from under him and causing him to fall backwards, smacking his head hard on the wooden floor.

"You fucking _shit!_" he groans, getting to his knees, and then scowls, grabbing Frank's arm and forcing it onto the pipe, overpowering his abrupt thrashing and ignoring his muffled scream, releasing him after several long seconds and spitting awful curses at him.

Frank slumps back, dazed, not hearing any of them, his gaze focusing on something behind the group; a soft, blurred glow on the floor. He doesn't even recognize what it is for a moment or two until he realizes the man is no longer holding his cigarette, having dropped it in his fall. It isn't on the floor, either; the light is coming up from a crack in the old wood, quite possibly having landed on dry leaves or anything else, for that matter—the house obviously hasn't been taken care of in far too long.

"_Fire…_" he mumbles into the tape, and then blinks, slowly regaining his senses, his eyes widening, and he shouts it, again coming out as nothing more than a grunt, straightening up and pressing himself against the wall. _Turn around, you fucking idiots!_

None of them do, and he whimpers desperately, watching their expressions grow confused, and then the one he tripped finally glances behind them, stepping back and cursing again, followed by the others, who have the same reaction. Two try to go over and step on it, but the flames don't disappear, spreading quickly on the dry wood.

"Come on, it's abandoned anyway! Let's go!"

Frank jerks on the handcuffs, making it as loud as he can so they will notice him, exclaiming again, and they turn back to him, no longer keeping up the tough act they had been, clearly as frightened as him now.

"Get the cuffs of 'em!" one of them shouts, and several come over to him, yanking on the cuffs.

"You got the key?"

"No! I don't know where it is!"

"God damn it!"

Frank watches them yell at each other, his eyes already stinging from the smoke, and then turns back to the handcuffs, pulling the middle tightly around the pipe. _What're you gonna do, melt it?_

"Leave him!"

The words induce more horror than Frank has ever felt before, and his attention is on them faster than he realizes it. "No!"

They look to him at the soft cry, but obviously believe they are helpless, because with a last glance, the three scramble out the door, leaving it open and screaming at one another as they do so.

Frank is overwhelmed briefly, his mind blank as his eyes go back to the flames, growing larger with every second. _Holy shit—_

He shakes his head to clear it, yanking on the pipe, and the suddenly hears it creak. He freezes, forcing himself to remain silent as he hurts his wrist again, and looks up at it, wondering if he can break it.

For almost a minute, he jerks on the handcuffs as hard as he can, getting to his feet and continuing his struggle, growing more desperate every moment he's aware he isn't free.

At last, something cracks above him, and the pipe snaps towards him, striking the top of his head and nearly knocking him senseless. He hits the floor and then groans, writhing to slip the handcuffs off of it, finally managing to and scooting away from it, reaching up rip the tape off his mouth, crying out and gasping for air, hoping it will right his vision. It doesn't, and for several moments he's only aware of the awful pounding in his head, trying to focus and yet incapable of doing so.

He glances around at last, looking at the open door and almost not comprehending what he should be doing. Getting to his feet slowly, he stumbles through it, leaning against the wall outside for support, looking for an exit to the place. God, where was he again? The second floor? The third?

Disoriented, he makes his way towards the staircase, making it down all but one step before the world fades on him, and he loses his already suffering balance, crying from frustration and pain as he hits the ground, just barely breaking his fall. "Gerard!" he whimpers absentmindedly. "Gee!"

He struggles to get up but simply can't, collapsing completely onto his side with a weak moan, having not an ounce of energy left to continue his efforts, exhausted.

_Sleep…I just wanna sleep…_

* * *

Gerard is there again. He'd been unable to get even three hours of peaceful rest before he was thrown back into his nightmare; the same one he always has, where a fire is slowly engulfing a house.

Only, it isn't the house he usually sees. And even more strange, he isn't trapped in it. He's _always _inside it—that is why he's always so frightened of it; there isn't a way out, no matter how much he wants to find one. If all he ever saw was a random place burn to the ground, he wouldn't care all that much. In fact, he would be able to stand it, and probably even go back to sleep afterwards.

But it's different this time, and then all at once it occurs to him why.

There is never anyone crying out from inside of it. Not in this dream. And his other nightmare, the one he never wants to have again in which there _is_—it never has anything to do with fire.

Even worse, he immediately recognizes who is yelling for help, with a terrifying jolt that scares him far more than he ever thought anything would in his life.

_Frankie…_


	3. Part 3: And Sleep

**~Sleep~**

**Part 3: And Sleep**

Gerard jerks awake, gasping for breath and shaking violently, absolutely terrified, the image of the burning house etched into his mind, so vivid he fears it will never go away. He sits up before he's even aware of what he is doing, leaning over, arms around his stomach, hearing nothing for a few moments but the pounding of his heart.

"Gee?"

He doesn't look up, not even as Mikey and Ray both come over to him, concerned. He instead gives a soft groan, and then murmurs, "W-where's he?"

"Who?" Ray questions. "Bob? He just went outsi—"

"No! Frank!"

Mikey frowns. "He hasn't come back yet. Why, what's wrong?"

Gerard doesn't reply for a minute, struggling to calm himself before he's sick, swallowing hard.

Mikey makes a comforting attempt to hug him, but the singer flinches away, eyes wide and dazed. "We…I…we gotta get him," he mumbles.

The bassist turns to Ray, confused, and then looks back at his brother. "You just had a nightmare, okay? It wasn't real."

But something won't allow Gerard to believe this; something inside is telling him it isn't. But there's no way it could've been anything _but_ a dream, right? He's just afraid of something happening to Frank, that's all. It doesn't have to mean that what had happened in his mind, where _everyone _had been getting hurt lately, is really happening now.

The scene is still imprinted perfectly before his eyes when he closes them, however—and no matter how many nightmares he's had before, they have never stayed this clear for this long upon waking up. Only the fear usually remains, never anything else.

"Take these," Brian is suddenly beside them, holding out two of the sleeping pills he bought earlier.

"No, please," Gerard can hardly speak. "Frank…"

"He's _fine_. He's just blowin' off steam." Brian brings the tablets closer.

Gerard abruptly lets out a loud breath of annoyance, standing and disregarding their manager as his senses return. "No. I want to look for him."

"Gee," Mikey tries, "it's only been, like, an hour. He's fine!"

"How the fuck do you know?"

"How do you know he isn't?" Brian asks, reaching out and grabbing his hand, dumping the pills into it. "Just take 'em so you can perform tomorrow."

"No," Gerard attempts to drop them, but the man holds his hand steady. "_Take them._"

"Fuck you!" the singer growls, yanking his wrist free and tossing the tablets to the floor. "And your stupid meds! I don't care if you believe me or not, I'm asking you to help me find our fucking guitarist!"

Brian hesitates, and Gerard merely stares at him. "I fucking _love _him!"

Without a word, Brian moves past the four and climbs into the driver's seat, starting the engine. "How exactly do you think you're gonna know where he is?"

"I dunno," Gerard mumbles exhaustedly, grabbing onto the seat next to him. "Just..." he trails off and shakes his head, gesturing for their manager to drive.

It's five minutes and the revelation that Frank left his cell phone behind later when Gerard's attention is caught by several police cars down a street, and a cold pang of fear knocks the breath from his lungs. He mumbles something along the lines of, "Stop here," and then jumps out of the bus, followed by only his brother, slowly making his way to the cluster of flashing lights.

"What happened?" Gerard demands, coming up beside one of the officers, frantically looking around for a body to confirm his fears.

"Some teens mugged a man; nothing too serious, he isn't too badly hurt."

"Wh-where is he?"

The officer finally turns to him, his eyes dull and emotionless.

"Is his name Frank?" Gerard raises his voice, growing agitated at the silence, and the officer points towards an ambulance a few squad cars down. Gerard squints, and even with his slightly foggy vision he sees it isn't his love, not quite relieved. Where the fuck is he, then?

Then the officer begins speaking again. "We got a witness saying three teens got into a car shortly before the man was found..." he frowns, sniffing and then rubbing his nose. "Odd, because the man says he only remembers two, but who knows? He's got a small concussion, and could've—"

"Who's the witness?" Gerard interrupts, and although the officer's frown deepens at being cut off, he gestures with his head towards the third car over to his right, and Gerard is off before the man can say anything else.

He gives an exasperated sigh as he sees the person sitting in the opened back seat of the car is not Frank, half turning around as the man glances up at him, embarrassed.

"Gerard, this is crazy," Mikey murmurs, cocking an eyebrow as if to ask if he is going to believe every person they hear about in a dangerous situation is Frank until they run into him confusedly searching for the tour bus that just left him behind

"I just...I have a bad feeling, okay?"

"What do you _feel_ happened, then?"

"I don't know! That's the problem!" Gerard snaps, aggravated. "He could be hurt, or, hell, fucking kidnapped for all we know, and we wouldn't—"

Mikey sees his older brother's eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. "Gerard—"

Ignoring him, the singer whirls around and walks up to the witness, who again raises his head, looking exhausted.

"Look," the man says, "I already told you, they went _West, _okay? I didn't have nothin' to do with it."

Gerard bites his lip. "The guys you saw getting into the car...they were the ones who did this?"

"Yeah." the man rolls his eyes, clearly irritated and itching to leave.

"There were three?"

"_Yeah._"

Gerard hesitated with his next question, afraid of the answer. "...Was...one of them...did one of them look like they didn't want to go?"

"What's that s'posed t'mean?"

"Was one of them trying to get away? Like...did they make the third guy go with them?"

"Kidnap him, you mean?" the man asks, and Gerard flinches. "Yeah."

"I dunno. Hard to see. I wasn't exactly calm enough to pay attention to that kind'a shit." He frowns for a moment, his eyes going off behind Gerard as he tries to recall what he saw. "Now that you mention it, though, they did kinda haul one of 'em in. Short little thing. Don't know how _they_ managed to mug that guy. You see him? He's six foot five!"

"Oh God." Gerard murmurs. He glances at Mikey, expecting him to come up with some rational explaination, but his brother for once is speechless, his expression slightly troubled as he processess the words, half still in doubt, half simply not wanting it to be true, and then asks, "Which way did they go?"

"West." the man gestures. "They said they got cars patrollin' and whatnot, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're already long gone."

"No." Gerard says instinctively, refusing to believe it, and before the man can respond to something he's hardly aware he said aloud, he turns and rushes off to the officer again. "Hey!"

The officer sighs loudly, irritated. "Kid, look, I'm _busy—_"

"I think they kidnapped someone." Gerard cuts in, and the man stops, turning to him, frowning. "What? Who?"

"Frank Iero. My boyfriend. The guitarist of our band."

The officer shrugs. "Look, we've got a few squad cars around, and some more are gonna head out soon. Right now, the only thing we've got proof of is there're delinquents around that need to be taken in. We got no evidence of any struggles besides the victim's."

Gerard glares at him. "I'm _telling _you, there's something wrong here, okay? The witness just _told _me there was a struggle!"

The officer frowns, his voice taking on this authoritative tone. "I'm sorry, sir, who are you? We don't allow people on a crime scene that don't belong there."

Suppressing a whine of complete frustration, Gerard mutters a curse and turns off, fists clenched, almost slamming the door of the bus behind him before he remembers Mikey is following him.

"Anything?" Ray asks, and Gerard doesn't answer.

"We..." Mikey begins, hesitant. "Okay, I'm not saying there's much proof, but we _might _have a problem."

"What kind'a problem?" Bob narrows his eyes, and Gerard blurts out, "They fucking kidnapped him."

"What?" Brian blinks in surprise. "Frank?"

"Yes. Frank." The singer briefly explains what little evidence they have of such, and yet, unlike how he expected them to react, they actually seem a bit panicked. He takes this as permission to further their search, and he points in the direction the witness had mentioned, and almost immediately Brian obeys, frowning. "You talked to the police about it?"

"They didn't believe me."

None of them reply, nor speak again for the longest time as they drive down a seemingly countless number of roads, before finally Mikey leans towards the passenger seat Gerard had slumped in a few minutes ago, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find him, okay?"

Gerard jerks slightly and then nods, not trusting his voice, half because he's holding back tears of desperation. It will be all _his _fault if something happens to Frank, if they never even _find _him. It's his fault now that the guitarist is probably fucking terrified, no matter how tough Gerard knows he would always try to be in a situation like that.

"We have to." he finally says. Then he frowns, blinks twice, and jolts up in the seat, having noticed a dark black cloud drifting up from a few streets ahead. He winces in fear as he remembers his nightmare, and, taking the risk of being utterly wrong, says, "Go there."

Unsure, Brian again complies, and then, before Gerard can even exclaim "Stop the bus!" he slams on the breaks in shock, the five of them now staring out the front window at an old house, the left side of it slowly being engulfed in flames.

"Shit," Ray murmurs, digging his cell phone out of his pocket.

Gerard doesn't move for a moment, then rushes to the door, stepping out, his eyes wide.

"Gee," Mikey is abruptly beside him, grabbing his wrist, worried.

"He's…"

"You don't know that!" Brian says, stepping up to them, and the singer gives a sudden cry. Mikey frowns, thinking their manager merely startled him, but then Gerard jerks his hand free, taking a few paces forward and bending down to pick something up.

Ignoring his brother's question of what it is, he looks back up at the building, clenching his fists to assure he can move.

_Not a dream._

Without glancing back, he cautiously starts towards the house, only breaking into a sprint when he feels one of the others try to grab for him.

"Fucking shit! Gerard!" Bob shouts as loud as he can, cupping his hands around his mouth to call his name again and still not getting a reaction, and Ray grabs Mikey as he starts after him.

"Mikey, wait—I called the—the police are coming—"

"What the fuck is he _doing?_" Mikey shouts, nearly choking as he fights tears.

None of them answer—they don't _know _of one, of course—only able to stare open-mouthed at the door which Gerard disappeared into moments before, desperately clinging to the still-struggling bassist to assure he doesn't follow.

Ray shakes his head, tightening his grip around Mikey's waist as the younger band member lets out a soft sob.

_I really fucking hope you know what you're doing, Gerard._

* * *

"Frank!" Gerard shrieks, blinking, his eyes already burning from the smoke despite having just entered the place, fighting back his growing terror. "_Frank!_"

_God damn it._

He is suddenly struck with a frightening thought—that the guitarist _isn't _here.

_I'm following a fucking dream. Oh God, I'll kill myself!_

It nearly causes him to turn and go back out, but suddenly he sees something even more upsetting than his previous find; it's embedded in a broken floorboard, as if it'd gotten stuck.

_Frank's shoe._

"Frank!" Gerard picks up screaming again, breaking off in a fit of coughing so bad he staggers, grabbing onto the wall as he fights to breathe. "_Frankie…_" He winces and shakes his head, trying to focus. _Gotta get out of here…_ he thinks dazedly, his instincts to save himself at last kicking in stronger than anything else. _He's not here…he got out…_

And then, as if the world just can't allow him to be right, he hears a soft groan from the room beside him. He has the option of believing it is the old house creaking from the fire slowly destroying it, but he doesn't. He _knows _that sound, and though it was quiet, he could've probably made it out if he'd been in a fucking tornado.

"Frank…?" Gerard mumbles quietly. He stumbles towards the doorway, starting to cough again, and then gasps as he sees his love, lying half-slumped a few feet away from the window in the very corner.

"Holy shit," the singer chokes, rushing over to him and falling to his knees, shouting his name in an attempt to wake him.

He doesn't move, however, and Gerard grabs him, pulling him into his arms, kissing his face and hoping he stirs. He straightens up when his efforts fail, beginning to lift him, and nearly falls as something jerks him back, finally noticing why the guitarist hadn't already broken the glass and gotten out.

The handcuffs Gerard just now notices are around his love's red and burned wrists are caught on a protruding piece of the floor, edged under it and twisted just enough that it would be impossible for someone weakened to get free themselves. He turns his head to cough again and then grabs at the metal restraints, terrified as he wonders how exactly he came to get them.

He curses viciously as he can't unhook them in the awkward position Frank has collapsed in, and he grits his teeth, attempting to move him himself.

"Mm…" Frank mumbles, his eyes fluttering open just slightly for a brief moment. "Wh…?"

"You gotta get up," Gerard says, his voice cracking and hoarse. "Please, I can't—"

He cuts off and begins coughing violently again, and Frank gives another little moan. "Gee…"

"I'm—here!" the singer gasps, grasping him again and struggling to lift him, managing to get him onto his other side, yanking on the handcuffs again and relieved when they come free. "Frankie, c-c'mon…"

He hauls him up only enough to realize he's passed out again, completely limp and sagging in his grip, and Gerard is only able to support him for a few moments before he falls into another strong fit of coughing that nearly causes him to faint as well, slumping sideways, wincing in pain.

"Fuck…" Gerard mutters softly, and at once, a terrible thought he is disgusted he would ever think of occurs to him:

_Leave him._

_Not on my fucking life, _Gerard shoots back silently, weakly wrapping his arms around Frank once more and desperately trying to lift him, failing. The room spins, and he lets out a panicked cry of, "Help!"

No. No he doesn't want to die. He knows that now for sure. And he sure as hell doesn't want Frank to die, not in his arms as he's rendered helpless to do anything.

"Frank…sorry…" he wheezes, nose buried in the guitarist's dirty, sweat-slicked hair, eyes flickering closed, slowly being suffocated by the smoke just as he has been so many times before in his sleep.

_Only this isn't a dream,_ he realizes hazily. _I'm not going to wake up._

He shakes his head, not allowing himself to give up as he almost does, searching every last section of his brain for whatever he needs in order to save them both.

He half bends over and then lowers himself completely, getting as close to the ground as he can, something he learned an eternity ago about escaping a fire hitting him, relieved as he finds it's cooler and just a bit easier to breathe, forcing away coughs and focusing on nothing but reorienting himself, looking out of the window as he does so. He needs to break it. He _has _to break it, or else they're going to die.

He forces himself to release Frank, lying him on his side again, hoping to allow his shallow, desperate gasps to ease, and then glances around for something to shatter the glass with, finding nothing.

Gerard then looks down at his hand, clenching it as tightly as he can manage. _Please. _

With all the strength he has left in him, he lashes out at the glass, the side of his fist smashing into it with surprising force, and the old, already slightly cracked window breaks immediately. The singer sobs from the pain, and then the sudden, quick burst of cool air that hits his face causes him to forget about anything but getting out. He can't see or breathe as he turns back, the smoke rushing past him, and he blindly grabs out for Frank, mind racing.

_Please! _he silently begs, and then finally brushes his fingers against Frank's.

He clenches his teeth against his need for breath, frantically gripping his love and pulling him towards the broken window, crawling out and then gently hauling him out too, collapsing into the grass, feeling the blades tickle his nose and vaguely hearing Frank's coughs and gasps behind him. He wants to move, to get them both away from the house completely, assure they're entirely safe, but he can't, merely able to stare at the red coating his hand until his eyes close, relieved to at last be away from the smoke as it travels upwards instead of to them.

The singer is unaware of anything for a long while, and then blinks as someone begins fitting a clear mask over his mouth and nose, grateful for the cold oxygen that at once begins soothing his aching lungs. He coughs painfully several times, mumbling, "Frankie…?"

"Gee! Oh God, Gerard—" Mikey shoves through the crowd of firefighters struggling to hose the house down, grabbing his older brother's soot-covered hand as he reaches him. "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry…are you okay? Please—can you hear me?"

Gerard's eyes slip shut again, but he squeezes Mikey's fingers. "Frank?"

"He's alive," Mikey breathes, sounding like he's crying now. He says other things, but Gerard doesn't care, able to willingly fade into the oblivion awaiting him at that comforting fact.

_He's okay. Frankie's okay. He's okay…_

* * *

Frank awakens absolutely terrified, slowly returning to consciousness and wondering why _exactly _he's not dead yet. His vision is only white at first, caused by the harsh, blurred lights on the ceiling above him, and the only thing he hears is the soft beeping of a monitor. Then he is aware of a dull pain coming from everywhere on his body, wincing and giving a soft groan as his vision clears, recognizing immediately where he is. What happened? How is he in a hospital? The last thing he remembers from before is being in the burning house, alone, knowing he was going to die and petrified that he had no control over it.

He coughs softly, wondering how anyone even found him in time. He highly doubts any of the teens from before would have told the police, but maybe that's exactly what has happened. He moves his arms just to be sure he isn't restrained anymore, wincing at the I.V. in his arm and the bandages around his wrists, and then raises his head at last, blinking and glancing around the empty room. Or what he _believes _to be an empty room until his eyes land on the bed a few feet away from his, a very familiar, practically black-haired boy lying on it, weakly smiling at him. "Gee..."

"Hi," Gerard murmurs, attempting to hide how panicked he is and failing miserably.

Frank frowns, noticing his right arm is entirely rigid beside him, wincing as he sees what's causing his fear. "What happened?" he asks, trying to get his love's attention off the needle in his vein. "How am I even here? I swear to God, I _died_."

Gerard gives a shuddering sigh, coughs, and then shakes his head. "Uh-uh." His smile gets a little bigger.

"…You?" Frank asks, startled, and Gerard winces, shifting his other arm a bit. "But…but how did you…?"

The singer reaches for something on the counter beside him with his free hand and then feebly tosses it onto the edge of Frank's bed, closing his eyes afterwards like the mere effort wears him out. The guitarist grabs it, holding the small object up in front of him and unable to keep a little grin from crossing his lips.

"I told you not to lose it," Gerard mumbles humorously, and Frank closes his fingers around the black and orange guitar pick, barely having to look at it to know it's the one his love had given to him for his birthday the year before, one he had managed not to lose in all this time.

"Didn't mean to drop it." Frank chuckles, his voice cracking as he feels tears burning his eyes. "It was a little hard to keep track of anything."

Gerard's eyes flutter open again. "What happened to you?"

Hesitantly, Frank explains, watching Gerard's concern grow until he interrupts with, "They fucking _left _you there?"

Frank shrugs with one shoulder. "They couldn't get me free."

Gerard rolls his eyes as if sarcastically replying with, 'That's a perfect reason!' and then accidentally looks down at his wrist, unable to help it, wincing like he's in pain and uncomfortably squirming again.

"Are you okay?"

"No," Gerard squeezes his eyes shut in fear, shaking his head. "Ah, fucking shit…"

"Gee?"

The singer's breathing is uneven as he glances up at him, and Frank gives him a reassuring smile. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you, too," Gerard replies, relaxing slightly, and then his eyes widen as the door to the room opens, a woman in all white clothing coming in and grinning at the sight of both of them. "You're awake," she says, her tone sweet. "Is there anything you need? The doctor should be with you short—"

"Get this thing out of my arm!" Gerard exclaims, startling her so much she steps back. "I'm sorry?"

Frank apologetically smiles at her. "Needles aren't his thing."

Her kind grin returns and she nods, coming over to him, and Frank hears him whimper in relief after a few moments as she gently slides the I.V. out, watching him clutch his arm to his chest like he's afraid she's only going to put it back in.

"Better?" she asks, and he blushes in embarrassment and looks away, his response a small nod.

She smiles again and looks at the other boy. "You I was ordered not to touch until the doctor gets here. He just wants to assure you're all right enough to be released."

Frank shrugs and then looks at Gerard, who glances at his little amused smirk only briefly before shaking his head and closing his eyes, finding nothing about it entertaining.

"You know, black still looks hot on you." the younger says, the grin on his lips actually audible, and Gerard quietly coughs again, the edges of his lips twitching as he holds back a smile of relief that the guitarist is still around to be his irritating, short little self.

"Idiot."

* * *

**-Five Days Later-**

"Gerard, what're you doing?"

Gerard flinches, looking back at the boy he swears fell asleep an hour before, blinking at him in surprise before leaning back on the couch they have in the back of the tour bus, staring out the window. "I dunno."

Frank frowns and crosses his arms across his bare chest, sitting beside him and looking him over, noticing his eyes are only half open. "Nightmare?"

"I never got to sleep."

"Why?"

The singer shrugs, though clearly knows exactly why, and Frank clasps his fingers with the older boy's, scooting closer and putting his chin on his shoulder. "Tell me."

Gerard glances at him and smiles for a second before it fades and he shakes his head. "I can't."

"Can't tell me?"

"No, I can't sleep. I _can't_. I'm..." he trails off for a moment and takes a deep breath. "I'm scared."

Frank straightens up. "Of what?"

Gerard turns to him, eyeing the healing burns on his body, and then winces. "Having to go through it again."

"It's over," Frank tries, hooking his arm around the singer's, and yet Gerard only looks away again. "Yeah, it is. _Here. _I don't know if it'll happen again in a dream, and I don't want to. I can't do it again, Frankie..." he shakes his head. "I just can't."

Frank sighs, remaining quiet for a few minutes, watching Gerard's head lower slowly and then jerk back up before he shifts, desperate to stay awake.

"What if you don't?"

"Don't what?" Gerard stifles a yawn.

"Have a dream—nightmare, whatever. What if they stopped?"

"They haven't."

"How do you know? Have you even slept since we got back?"

Gerard frowns. "Not really." He faces his love again, looking even more tired. "I don't want to."

"You have to fucking _try,_ Gerard. You can't stay awake forever." Frank says, taking his hand and standing, pulling him back towards the beds.

"No." Gerard answers, yanking his hand away, and as Frank frowns and reaches for it again, he puts both of them in his lap.

Frank cocks an eyebrow. "You know, I'll still get it," he murmurs coyly, and Gerard visibly holds back a smirk, crossing his leg over his wrists and looking up at him challengingly.

Frank bends his leg under him and grabs his hands anyway, playfully climbing over him, and Gerard finally can't help but smile, rolling his eyes and running a hand through the younger's hair as he kisses him.

"Come on, please," Frank mumbles after a few moments, pulling back to sit up again and tilting his head. "Can you just try?"

Gerard's discomfort immediately returns and he shakes his head. "I can't."

"_Yeah,_ you can."

"But…" Gerard protests, but Frank wraps an arm around him before he can continue, leaning him back against him, using his free hand to stroke a finger along his cheek.

"Just sleep," the guitarist murmurs softly, his breath tickling Gerard's ear, and when his love only remains tense, he begins humming the song he's heard Gerard softly singing late at night before. It clearly comforts him, and doing so enough that he can rest is exactly what Frank is determined to accomplish.

Gerard's eyes almost immediately grow heavy, and he blinks hard several times before he's forced to close them. He really doesn't want to fight, though; he feels…safe; at ease; like everything is okay. And it's almost as if he doesn't fear having the dreams anymore, despite believing that somewhere deep down he still has to. The fear had controlled if he did or didn't sleep for so long that this comfort, this will to give up and at last sleep through the night...they are utterly foreign.

Foreign and so very, very welcome.

Frank continues the quiet notes, and at last his love relaxes entirely, his breaths steadying, the silence and contentment eventually pulling Frank into slumber as well.

And for the first time in what seems like forever, the singer hasn't a single nightmare interrupt his rest.

**~End~**

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**A/N: HURRAH, I've finally finished it, as I promised! With a bonus of extra pathetic cheesiness at the end. xD I hope you liked it, guys! Thank you to the people who reviewed, I didn't expect any, you guys are sweet! :) Thanks everyone for reading! **


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